So, Pickle Fest 2008 in the house.

In some year at some point, the Lower East Side BID started closing one street in LES to host picklers from around the world. Under big tents with big barrels, farmers and hipsters alike are workin it for your pickle pleasure. Most picklin artists are kind enough to offer samples. At least the smart ones do. Those that were giving it away had crowds that led around the block. Damn, I never knew New Yorkers were so gotdamn cheap. Cheap and aggressive, sucking the life out of the crafterman and their pickles. But hey, I shoved with the best of em.

These chicks were offering rice with their kimchi. Thank. You.

Kimchi, but it was too mild for my fire mouth. Next time, ladies.

Are pickles the only thing foodies will eat out of barrel?

I bought some pickled green tomatoes from these billies. We ate them tonight. Yum.

My one criticism of the festival was that it was marketed as “international,” so I was sort of expecting some exotic pickles or something. Gimme some pickled papaya. I wanted to taste lamb chops in a spicy brine. Feed me some pickled tiger toe nails on a freakin cracker. Just one acidic pork nipple for my martini please. But no. Dill, sweet, spicy, blah, blah, blah. At least last year, I heard, they served pickled hot dogs. I should be on the committee next year. Then I’ll put into play my ignorant ass ideas.

Stay tuned for my recipe for homemade kimchi. It’ll knock you on your ass.